


The War Never Ends

by BlueEyedArcher



Series: Outlast One-Shots [52]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - World War II, Blood and Gore, Communications Technician Waylon Park, Lieutenant Chris Walker, M/M, Major Character Injury, Medic Richard Trager, Murkoff Company, Private Eddie Gluskin, Sergeant Jeremy Blaire, Short One Shot, Sniper Miles Upshur, Soldiers, Soldiers of war, Tanks, Trench Warfare, Violence, may continue this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 10:59:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14055489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: “Medic!” The scream was overcome with the explosions of bombs and the hail of gunfire. Dirt and blood rained down upon them as the brunette rushed to the side of his companion, pressing his hands against his chest to try and stem the blood flow. His rifle hanging down over one shoulder, sagging in the exposed earth. His body jolted with the shock waves of another mortar shell hitting the nearby trenches. The torso of his comrade was ripped open, intestines spilling out into the slurry of mud and waste pooling out from days stuck in these god forsaken fox holes.------------------The world is at war and Murkoff Company is working their way across the battlefield to secure prime check points to prevent the spread of the enemy across the continent. Putting up one hell of a fight as their comrades are gunned down. They won't let a few tanks or trenches get in their way.(I'm shitty at summaries)





	The War Never Ends

**Author's Note:**

> I felt the urge to write and after watching Saving Private Ryan, I could just imagine Miles crying out for a medic in the midst of a hail of gunfire. 
> 
> I'm currently recovering from a slipped rib and muscle injury which makes sitting at a computer and writing a very painful task but I was just dying to write this so I did. My other pieces will be on hold for a little bit until I'm better. I could barely make it through doing this short so I hope you like it. Please leave a comment down below. I may or may not continue this piece when I'm feeling better.

“Medic!” The scream was overcome with the explosions of bombs and the hail of gunfire. Dirt and blood rained down upon them as the brunette rushed to the side of his companion, pressing his hands against his chest to try and stem the blood flow. His rifle hanging down over one shoulder, sagging in the exposed earth. His body jolted with the shock waves of another mortar shell hitting the nearby trenches. The torso of his comrade was ripped open, intestines spilling out into the slurry of mud and waste pooling out from days stuck in these god forsaken fox holes.

 

The silver haired doctor bolted across the field, an elder man with too many years of this shit show under his belt and hands that never shook or strayed from their duty. The red cross marking on his helmet was the only symbol of his position within the ranks but it did little good when more than half his supplies have been wasted on dead men. “Leave him!” A sharper voice broke through the air as their sergeant darted towards the next set of trees, tucking himself up next to the dirt piles and fallen trunks, ripped apart by tank shells the day prior. What remained was on the other side, taken out by a grenade, the bodies still rotting away inside, their decay was delayed only by the frost that morning. Their skin was ashen along with the rest of the dead filling the fields and roadways. “Park!” The sergeant barked out as he returned fire on the enemies. Giving the medic and brunette private time to run to cover. The medic was forced to haul the younger male up by his rifle strap and drag him away from the body, gurgling up it’s last breath as lead was pumped into it by a spray of bullets.

 

Another young man, lithe of frame with a head of blonde locks stained with grime and blood to the point his golden curls could no longer be recognized. The pale blue orbs were smudged with sleeplessness and his bright chipper gaze from day one was overshadowed with nightmares. His only savior was his job as communications expert, spending day and night working the radios back to base and relaying orders and messages to Sergeant Blaire. “Yes sir!” The comm tech blurted as he dove for cover just as another shell hit, barely clearing their mound. A spray of dirt clumps and rocks hailed upon them, causing the group to shield themselves as the techie fumbled with the radio, handing the mic to the sergeant.

 

“For fucks sakes! Upshur! Trager! Lay down cover fire!” He barked out, jarring the brunette from his daze, his bloody fingers slipped over the bolt on his rifle as he worked the sight, his emerald eyes were darkened with experience as they narrowed upon the bobbing heads moving through the tree line. The squeeze of the trigger, he no longer felt the sting of the recoil anymore. His shoulder was numb, calloused by the barrage. He was desensitized to the amount of bodies that laid out the ground in his wake, the spray of blood tinting the fog briefly before his sights cleared to find the next unlucky foot soldier.

 

“Gluskin! I need that artillery here right fucking now!” Sergeant Blaire growled into the mic getting a snarl of cursing from the heavy set Lieutenant Walker on the other end. There was another explosion as more rounds were let loose, peppering the field between them and the enemy line. The squealing of tank treads sounded, the deafening crunch of trees giving way beneath. “Park! Trager! Get your asses over there.” The sergeant hollered, popping out a few rounds at the troops leaving the tree lines in the tracks of the tanks. Miles followed it up with a few more bodies dropped, the screams of wounded soldiers no longer reaching his ears. Those ones didn’t matter to him.

 

Miles watched out of the corner of his eye as the medic and techie made a full sprint towards a run down metal trailer across the ways. They were coming up on a farmer’s field, working their way towards the rural village where there was more cover and protection from the tanks. This was just one milestone in the greater picture. Cutting off the supply lines before the enemy could make anymore ground. They had been attempting to starve them out for the winter and force them to retreat back to the border.

 

In his moment of distraction, he missed the movement on the hill. The medic trailed ahead of Waylon, the techie was lagging with the radio equipment, shifting his rifle on his shoulder as a bullet sliced through the air. He stumbled in a rut and it missed him but the next step wasn’t so lucky as the shot whizzed by and broke through the flesh of his leg. He tumbled forward, his helmet dropped to the slop and mess of a trench as he went down, Sprawled out across the earth with an ear shattered scream. The whites of his teeth showing through the black smudge staining his face from smoke and ash. His eyes wide as his pant leg was quickly soaked red.

 

“Waylon!” Miles cried out, popping another round off with the satisfying sight of red misting the air from behind the enemy sniper’s helmet, painting the tree trunk and the faces of his comrades. The sergeant provided cover fire as Miles rushed to the techie’s aid. Grabbing up the male by his shoulder straps and dragging him across the earth towards the cover where the medic awaited. Waylon clung to the radio, grunting through the pain until he came to lay beside the cover. Miles raised his rifle and shot off a few more rounds until Blaire could cross the expanse back over. Taking up the radio, he continued his orders while Trager tended to Waylon. A quick splint and bandage for his calf, the bullet had gone straight through.

 

“Get us the fuck out of here!” Miles shouted out at Blaire. They were pinned down. Their reinforcements were stalled back over the river trying to cross over the bridge. The rigs were having trouble crossing and it left them unprotected. Less manpower.

 

Blaire cursed into the mic on the radio, receiving nothing but static in return. He gritted his teeth and pulled a grenade from his belt, launching it out into the clearing and catching three troops off guard while trying to flank them. Rapid fire filled the air, forcing them all to duck for cover as hot lead sprayed past them, bullets whizzing dangerously close. Waylon cried out as his leg was jarred and jostled around. The medic put a piece of leather in his mouth to stifle the sounds and give him something to bite on and not bite his own tongue off in the process. His hands clutched at Miles’ pant leg, the sniper turned his attention down to his friend and pried Waylon’s hands free to take them into his own grasp and return the tight hold. “Hang in there buddy.” Trager spoke firmly, giving Waylon a pat on the shoulder as he turned to his pack to put his supplies back, having done all he could for now until they return to base.

 

The creaking of the tank started back up again, heading their direction. Another shell hit in the clearing beside them, causing Miles and Trager to lean over Waylon for cover. The techie whimpered, turning his head away from the blast. Blaire returned fire, knocking back as many as he could that were attempting to use the tank for cover. “We need the high ground.” He growled, looking towards the church tower in the village just across the field. “We need to get to that town.”

 

“Easier said than done.” Trager blanched, situating himself to peer around the corner, using his own rifle to drop a soldier that stepped too far out of line.

 

“I can make it but that tank will take me out once I’m up there.” Miles spoke, pulling Waylon up by his forearm to sit upright. He shifted the radio strap on the techie’s shoulder to collect it up, prepared to make another run for it at any second. “We stay here, we’re sitting ducks.” Waylon hissed, giving another groan of pain as he clutched to Miles tightly. They all jolted as another shell hit the other side of them. They hunched over to avoid the debris and gripped their guns tighter. The creaking of the treads stopped before another explosion came. The group was taken aback as they peered around and realized that it had hit the tank instead. Then heavy artillery rained down on it.

 

The turret on the tank turned in the direction of fire as three big rigs with turrets on the backs rolled through. Lieutenant Chris Walker was leading the trucks as they fired down upon the treeline and peppered the remaining troops holding it down, leaving them in the trenches as they peeled out, sending dirt every which way. More explosions hit the tank, grenades busting up the already damaged treads and forcing it to stall. The gunners within attempted to return fire but were gunned down within with a handful of lucky bullets finding the right spots.

 

The leading rig pulled up to the group, providing cover fire as the other two surged on towards the village, hitting the last couple remaining troops. “Bout time you showed up Gluskin!” Miles blurted as he ad the medic helped Waylon to his feet and towards the tail bed of the truck. The larger private’s blue eyes widened at the sight of the techie, turning around to help draw him up into the back to rest around the growing pile of spent shells.

 

“Came as fast as we could.” Chris grunted out the driver’s side window as sergeant Blaire climbed into the passenger seat. Miles and Trager climbed up in the back, Trager still checking up on Waylon while Miles took point. “Fuckin’ boonies don’t know how to build a proper bridge. Anything bigger than a milk truck, and it gives out.”

 

“Shut the hell up and drive.” Blaire snapped, cursing under his breath as the truck lurched forward and over a few ruts in the ground, jostling the passengers around.

 

Miles nearly hit his head on the side panelling and Waylon whimpered as his leg was knocked around. “Fuck Walker! Watch where yer goin!”


End file.
